


Carry On, Wayward Sons

by unknownbananna



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: AU, Gen, Halt/Crowley friendship, Halt/Gilan/Will father/sons relationship, No Slash, Physical Abuse, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Slavery, Verbal Abuse, Will/Gilan friendship, character whump (oops)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-10-16 05:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10564629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknownbananna/pseuds/unknownbananna
Summary: The Burning Bridge/Icebound Land AU. Horace delivers Gilan's message, and as a result of this Gilan is captured with Will and Evanlyn at Three Step Pass. The battle is won, but the three friends are en route to Skandia to be sold as slaves. Halt vows to find his apprentices and bring them home, no matter the personal cost, and Crowley and Horace join him on the journey. But will they be in time to rescue their friends?(No slash, lots of angst and hurt/comfort, focus on platonic brotherly and father/son relationships. Will be novel length.)





	1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER:  I do not own _Ranger's Apprentice_ or any of the places or characters mentioned, which were created by John Flanagan. I also do not own the song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter. Credit will be given to all of the artists who do.**

* * *

**~~~PROLOGUE~~~**

_Carry on my wayward son,  
_ _There’ll be peace when you are done,  
_ _Lay your weary head to rest,_  
_Don’t you cry no more._

* * *

The dishes had all been cleaned and put away.  The fire was crackling merrily from the stone fireplace in the corner, and there was plenty of wood stacked next to the hearth for later.  It was storming outside, but the doors and windows were all closed and the atmosphere inside was warm and cozy.  For once, everything was right with the world.

It didn’t happen often, Gilan thought to himself, but sometimes, you think and think and think and just can’t find anything wrong with the world.  He was inside and warm and full of good food, sitting on a comfortable couch with his best friend next to him and his mentor reading reports in his favorite chair across the room.  There were no tasks that needed doing, no places that needed traveling to, no dangerous battles that needed fighting.  Just him and the two people he considered his family, sitting quietly and enjoying each other’s company.

Things weren’t always this way. Now, they were three grown Rangers: a former teacher who still found himself teaching and his once-upon-a-time students, who were still being taught years later.  But when their story began—really began—things had been different. They had been three people: a boy, Will, frightened and kidnapped by slave traders; his close friend and protector, Gilan, who had been captured alongside him; and their desperate former and current mentor, whose only thought had been to find his boys and bring them home.

If he thought about it, Gilan could still easily feel the ice cold of metal shackles fastened around his ankles.  He knew that, if asked, Will could do the same—perhaps with even more ease than himself.  As per usual, the thought made him feel vaguely sick to his stomach, and he sighed.

Halt glanced up at him.  “Thinking about Skandia again?” he asked casually, looking over his former apprentice with a practiced eye.  Gilan started.

“How did you know?”

“It’s the only time you’re not smiling,” Halt said dryly, and Gilan sighed again.

“Yes, well, there’s not much to smile about,” he muttered, tone dark.  Halt watched him, concerned, but saying nothing.  If Gilan wanted to talk, he knew that he would.  As things were, however, the young Ranger did nothing but shift slightly in his seat and turn to watch his younger friend sleeping beside him.  

Halt’s eyes followed Gilan’s, and a smile crossed his face.  A corner of Gilan’s mouth twitched upwards.  “You know you’re going to have to get him back to bed eventually,” Halt said, indicating Will with a nod of his head.  Gilan fondly glanced at Will.  

“I suppose he’s too grown up to piggyback now,” he mused, half to himself, and Halt snorted, both at the statement and the memories it brought back.

“He’s been too grown up for that since before you met him.”

Gilan sighed again and lightly carded a hand through Will’s dark hair, smoothing it away from his eyes.  Halt raised an eyebrow, amused.  “If you leave him to sleep out here, Gilan…”  He left the threat hanging, but Gilan knew it was empty.  He also knew that, if Will had been alone with any two other people, he would have woken at the touch instantly.  Halt and Gilan, however, were different.  Will’s sleeping brain was telling him that here, he was safe…  Here, nothing could harm him.  

Gilan felt honored to have someone trust him so highly.

“Why do you still call him that, anyways?” he asked his teacher, deciding to leave Will’s unruly hair to itself for the moment and retracting his hand.  “He’s hardly your apprentice any more, after all.”  Halt looked up at him briefly before returning to the papers in front of him.

“The same reason you still introduce him as your ‘little brother,’ when you go on missions,” his mentor replied easily.  Then he parroted, “After all, he’s hardly little any more.”

Gilan grinned and gave a half-shrug as he nodded, acquiescing the point.  “No matter how old he gets,” he mused, “I’m always going to see the part of him that’s still that innocent kid with the bright eyes who jumped out of that tree on the way to the Gathering.”  He ruffled Will’s hair affectionately, and Will shifted in his sleep, involuntarily resting his head on Gilan’s shoulder.  The older Ranger smiled.

“That never gets old,” he said to himself.  He gave Will’s shoulder a gentle shake.  At Halt’s inquiring glance, he said, “If I can’t carry him, I at least have to wake him up.  He’ll never forgive me if I let him sleep out here.”

Will’s eyelids fluttered, opening slowly, lazily.  Gilan smiled again.  “Wake up,” he said softly.  The youngest Ranger in the room groaned before pulling himself into an upright position.  Will grimaced.

“I was sleeping,” he grumbled, but both Gilan and Halt knew he didn’t truly mean it in annoyance.

“And now you’re not,” Halt said evenly.  “Now up you get.  It’s high time the both of you got to sleep.  In a bed,” he added, seeing Will’s mouth open to protest.  “Now get.”

Reluctantly, both young Rangers stood up.  Gilan placed a hand on Will’s shoulder, steadying him as he almost pitched forwards.  He squeezed lightly in response to the mumbled, barely audible “Thanks, Gil.”

The older Ranger guided Will over to their mentor with a half-smile.  Halt smiled back—a rare occurrence.  “Good night, Halt.”

Will looked up somewhat blearily.  “G’night, Halt.”  He paused.  “Dad.”  Halt’s smile grew just a tiny bit wider at the word that acknowledged the close bond between them, and he replied fondly as he always did.

“Good night, you two.  Sleep well.”  Gilan nodded, and began walking towards the bedroom he and Will typically shared when Gilan visited.  “I’ll be out here, finishing reports.”  

Gilan nodded.  Even after all the years that had passed since their experiences as slaves, the horrific things the younger men had suffered were enough to leave them waking repeatedly in a cold sweat, thrashing about and shouting.  The nightmares tended to resurface after someone got hurt—and though Will’s knock on the head after their most recent mission barely even counted as an injury, the words were reassuring to both apprentices.

“We know.”

Once they were inside the bedroom, Gilan practically shoved Will towards the bed.  “If you don’t get under those blankets now, you’ll fall asleep standing up,” he said with a raised eyebrow.  Will yawned as a response, and Gilan rolled his eyes.

“I saw that,” Will protested indignantly, but he still allowed Gilan to straighten the covers once he was finally under them.  They never called it tucking in, because that sounded immature and childish, but Gilan had been doing it ever since their return from Skandia and he certainly wasn’t about to stop now.

“You’re like a great big overprotective brother bear,” Will mumbled.  Gilan snorted at him, amused.

“Oh yes? And what does that make Halt, then?”

“The mother.”

Gilan laughed—a real, true laugh, as he finished with the blankets on Will’s bed.  “You’d best not tell him that.”  Will yawned again, exhaustion evident in his voice when he replied.

“He wouldn’t mind.”

Gilan smiled gently.  “You and I both know that’s a blatant lie,” he whispered.  “Though he’d probably let you live.  Sleep well.”

But Will was already asleep.


	2. In the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilan and Evanlyn care for an unconscious Will in the aftermath of their capture. Meanwhile, Crowley and Halt prepare for the upcoming battle with Morgarath.

**~~~CHAPTER ONE~~~  
** **In the Beginning**

__ In time, the nations grew weak,  
__ And our cities fell to slums  
__ While evil stood strong.  
__ In the dusts of Hell lurked the blackest of hates,  
_ For he whom they feared  
_ __ Awaited them…

* * *

 

_ Ten years previously… _

“He looks just like he’s sleeping,” Evanlyn whispered, staring down at Will as if he were a ghost.  While he was pale—too pale, they both thought—the ash and blood streaked across his face created a very _living_ appearance.  Gilan sighed.  Were he and Evanlyn any better off?  Not likely.

“It’s not as if he’s dead,” the Ranger murmured, trying not to draw the attention of the Skandians, who sat slightly off to the side and away from the Araluens.  One of the bigger ones was keeping a watchful eye on the three captives but made no move to restrain them. After all, it wasn’t as if they had anywhere to run, out on an empty, exposed plain like this.  Gilan sighed again. If he was honest with himself, there wasn’t much about their current situation that looked good—that is, aside from the fact that Will most certainly  _ wasn’t  _ dead.  Gilan wasn’t sure he could have borne that if it had been the case.  “He’s just unconscious, thank God. How’s your arm?”

Evanlyn looked down at the makeshift but neat bandage Gilan had tied around her bicep where one of the Wargals’ swords had caught her. The wound wasn’t deep, but it had bled enough to frighten her (Gilan, who had years of medical field training, hadn’t seemed nearly as fazed). “It’s fine,” she shrugged. “It hurts, but I’m guessing I should get used to that?”

Gilan was about to reply when the burly Skandian who had been assigned watch duty began to make his way over to the Araluens.  Gilan shifted subtly so that he was sitting in front of Will.  The message was clear, but it turned out to be unnecessary.  “There’s food, if you want any,” the sea wolf said gruffly, making no move toward any of them.  “You can come get it.”  He then turned and walked quickly back to his post, resuming his former stance without a second glance at the three friends.

Gilan looked down at Will, hesitant to leave him.  Evanlyn sensed his inner conflict. “I’ll bring some back for us,” she offered. Gilan looked up.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully, and she nodded.

“I don’t want anything to happen to him either, you know,” she commented, and Gilan sighed deeply.

“I know you don’t.  None of us do.  It’s just—before we set off for this mission, I sort of promised Halt I’d look after him.  Bring him back safely.  And now…”

“But you can’t think this is your fault, Gilan!” Evanlyn exclaimed, eyes widening, and the Ranger waved her off.

“I appreciate that, Evanlyn, but I could have done  _ something.   _ And anyway.”  He sighed again.  “Will’s the closest thing to a son Halt has, and he’s a good friend of mine too.  But he’s young.  And you forget… He’s more than willing to give his life for a cause he believes in, but he’s still a boy.  He shouldn’t  _ have  _ to do that in the first place. For that matter, you shouldn’t be here either. You’re both too young.”

Evanlyn’s emerald eyes were dark in understanding—or was it sympathy?  It was hard to tell, Gilan decided, and it didn’t really matter.  “But here we are,” she said knowingly.

“You either want food or you don’t!” the leader of the Skandian patrol shouted over at them, breaking them out of their conversation.  Gilan racked his brains for a name.  Erak, that was it.  Evanlyn stood.

“I’ll be back soon,” she promised, turning and walking hurriedly towards their captors before they decided the wait was too long.

Gilan turned to look down at Will, who was showing no signs of waking up.  Evanlyn had been right.  He did seem peaceful.  At least, more so than when he was awake.  You could almost imagine he was just a normal kid if you ignored the bronze oakleaf hanging on its silver chain across his chest.

Instinctively, Gilan’s fingers went to brush his own leaf.  A reminder of so many promises—oaths sworn to his friends, to his country, to his family, each a separate burden for him to bear.  But one in particular hung heavy on his mind and in his heart.  “I swear, Will,” he whispered, “you’ll get home safe.  I promise.”

“You could at least pretend to pay attention to me, you know.”

Halt glared balefully up at his old friend, but there was none of the usual heat in his gaze.  Crowley sighed. “Halt, we’ll get them back soon enough.  Gilan will look after him, you know that.”  

Halt rose from his seat restlessly and began pacing back and forth.  They were currently the only ones inside the main command tent, everyone else having left several minutes ago after the last meeting, and neither one had any issue with speaking their minds to the other.

“I should be looking for them,” Halt said in obvious frustration.  “For all we know, Morgarath could be—“

“And for all we know, they’ve already escaped and are on their way here right now,” Crowley interrupted calmly, effectively cutting Halt off before he could say the word  _ torture _ and get himself even more worked up than he already was.  “Halt, I know how difficult this is for you, but you have to look at the bigger picture.  This battle isn’t going to fight itself, you know, and there’s too much at stake for you not to be one hundred percent on task.”  

“I  _ am _ on task!” Halt stated indignantly, but Crowley shook his head.

“No, you’re too busy pacing and worrying.  Now sit—“ he gestured to an empty chair—“and calm down.  We’ve got a war to fight, and Morgarath is out there just waiting to tear this country apart.”

Halt obeyed reluctantly, aware that Crowley was right. His captured apprentices were a small matter compared to the battle that lay before them. He blinked and tried to refocus his attention. “If we could only catch him from behind,” he mused out loud, looking over the war map spread out over the table, “that would give us a huge advantage.”

Crowley leaned over the table and pointed. “Back here?” he asked, and Halt nodded.

“He’s expecting Skandian reinforcements. If we could take out that force and replace it with our own men—but I don’t know how we could get them behind Morgarath’s forces without taking them through the fens.”

Crowley frowned. “Can we not do that?”

“Well.” Halt shrugged. “We could, but I’m not sure who we would trust to navigate.” Gilan would be the natural choice, of course, but his absence was painfully conspicuous enough without one of them pointing it out. “We would have to pull a Ranger away from somewhere else, and we’re spread pretty thin as is.”

“Hmm.” Crowley’s brows furrowed as he considered the major problem with the idea. Halt was right—in preparing for a war like this,  they simply didn’t have the Rangers to spare. “Do we have to rely on a Ranger?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, do we have anyone in the army who might be familiar with the area? Hunters or the like?” Crowley’s words began to speed up as he warmed to his idea. “If we can find a hunting man who lays traps in the fens, he could lead a force through them just as well as any Ranger. Maybe better. And he doesn’t need to be a trained military man—if we can find someone else to lead the troops, he can act as navigator and leave the tactics up to someone who’s more experienced.”

Halt considered the idea. Like many things Crowley dreamed up, it had merit. It just needed refinement. “We’ll need to find someone fast,” he said thoughtfully. “And assemble a suitable force. But if we can pull it off, it’ll give us a serious advantage. Morgarath will be expecting reinforcements, not enemy soldiers.”

He met Crowley’s eyes. Years of training and working together had given each a thorough knowledge of the other’s tactical strengths and weaknesses. Individually, they were dangerous. Together, they posed a formidable obstacle to anyone who crossed them. This battle had been twenty years in coming, and seeing the loss in his friend’s eyes, Crowley vowed Morgarath would regret trying to tear their country apart. They would not lose this fight.

A corner of Halt’s mouth twitched upwards in satisfaction. “Let’s get to work.”

His head was pounding like someone was repeatedly hitting it with a hammer.  Every bone in his body ached.  For a moment, he wondered what stupid, idiotic thing he’d done recently to warrant that sort of pain, and what Halt would most likely say about it when he found out—and then he remembered.  Everything came back in a flash.  The bridge, falling, Evanlyn screaming, Gilan’s eyes going wide as he shouted his name—

  
Will’s eyes snapped open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read! Up this chapter: the song is "In the Beginning," which is technically less of a song and more of an album intro, is by which classic rock band? (This one is more obscure--sorry.)


	3. No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Gilan discuss Halt, pirates, and other miscellaneous things until Morgarath pays the Skandians a visit.

**~~~CHAPTER TWO~~~  
** **No More**

 _Give me a reason to stay here,  
_ _Cause I don’t want to live in fear.  
_ _I can’t stop the rain,  
_ _But I can stop the tears.  
_ _Oh I can fight the fire,_  
_But I can’t fight the fear…_

* * *

 

“Will!”

Both Gilan and Evanlyn practically pounced on the apprentice as soon as he opened his eyes.  He groaned softly.  “Ouch.”  Gilan helped him into a sitting position, and Will leaned on the older Ranger as a wave of nausea swept over him.  He groaned again.

“Feel sick?” Gilan asked, voice softer than it would have been ordinarily—probably to keep the ache in his skull at a bare minimum.  Will grunted in affirmation.  Gilan’s mouth tightened.  “I thought so.  You probably have a slight concussion.  What do you remember?”

“Um…”  Will closed his eyes.  “The bridge was burning… We were shooting at the wargals when the Skandians showed up. And then I got hit in the head with a rock, I think.”  Gilan nodded.  Will frowned and reopened his eyes.  “What about you two?  Are you all right?”

Evanlyn laughed quietly, and after the heavy stress of the past several hours the sound was a relief to both Rangers.  “We’re fine,” she assured him.  “We’re more worried about you.”

“Well, I’ll be all right,” Will said matter-of-factly and Gilan nodded along, knowing where Will was trying to take this and determined to put a stop to it.

“Yes, you will, but take it easy, all right? Concussions are nasty business, no matter how mild.”

Will frowned.  He glanced around without moving his head—Halt had drilled that skill into both of them very effectively, and plus, his head hurt—and lowered his voice upon seeing that nobody was keeping a close eye on them.  “What if we need to run?”  Gilan bit his lip, and Will continued.  “Gil, you and I both know that our current situation is, for lack of a better phrase, _really bad._ If we see an opportunity, we _have_ to take it.  It’s either that, or…”

Slowly, Gilan nodded.  “You’re right, of course,” he murmured with a sigh. “You’ll just have to make do if anything comes up. It’s not optimal, but it’s what we’re working with.”

The two Rangers lapsed into a familiar, solemn silence, and Evanlyn followed suit. He and Will had sat like this for a time after the Kalkara attack, Gilan recalled. That had been the most difficult thing he’d ever faced, back then: his father dying, and then almost losing his mentor to Morgarath’s assassins.

Will sighed.  “I miss Halt,” he said finally, and Gilan looked over at him.

“Yeah.  Me too.”  Gilan paused.  “He always has the answer to everything, doesn’t he?”  

Will shrugged.  “Yes, but—it’s more than that.  I mean—“

“I know what you mean.”

Ever since his father had been the first victim of the Kalkara last year, Halt had been Gilan’s strongest support.  The death of his father had made Gilan officially an orphan, and he didn’t think he could have handled it nearly as well, or at all, if it hadn’t been for Halt.  Nobody could ever replace Gilan’s dad. But Halt hadn’t tried to—he had merely been strong and comforting and _there_. Will was in a slightly different situation, having never known his parents to begin with, but the end result had been the same: somewhere along the line, Halt had become like a father (or a second father, in Gilan’s case) to them both.  

“We just have to keep faith,” Gilan said with a great deal more conviction than he actually felt.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust their mentor—in all actuality, he probably trusted the man a bit too much—it was just that right now, all the cards were against them.  But Will didn’t need to know that just yet, and Evanlyn certainly didn’t.  As their anxious eyes met Gilan’s, though, he had a feeling they both already knew it. “Halt’ll come for us.  He always does.”  

Will nodded, but his eyes were fixed on the ground miserably.  Gilan lightly jogged the disheartened boy’s arm with his elbow.  “And, besides.  I promised I’d protect you, right?”

This, the older Ranger was pleased to see, brought the faint hint of a smile to Will's face.  “Gil, we’ve been captured by pirates.  I don’t think that counts anymore.”

Gilan’s expression grew suddenly serious.  “It counts,” he said, quiet and solemn, so that Will was actually taken aback at the sudden change in tone.  “It counts more than anything.”

A pause.  Then Will frowned.  “Is that—hoofbeats?”  Gilan listened.  Yes, there were definitely hoofbeats in the distance, approaching their camp, growing in volume as they drew closer. Gilan twisted around to look behind them, and what he saw made his mouth go dry.

The Skandians scrambled to their feet as one.  Erak cursed.  “That’s Morgarath himself on that white horse!” he exclaimed, and his second-in-command swore loudly.  Gilan turned to Will, eyes wide.

“Our oakleaves!” he exclaimed urgently, in a quieter voice.  His hand fumbled with his own leaf.  As quickly as possible, the Rangers tucked their oakleaves inside their shirts.  There was nowhere to hide and nowhere to run—this was their best chance at survival.  Evanlyn seemed frozen in fear, and Gilan thought that maybe he should reassure her but he didn’t think he was capable of doing so right then.

Morgarath’s horse slowed down, approaching the camp at a canter.  Will swallowed.  The Dark Lord truly was a fearsome sight.  He was dressed in armor, ready for battle atop his tall albino horse.  He had ash-white hair, a thin face, and cold, bloodless lips that tightened upon close examination of the camp.  Black eyes lingered on Will and Gilan for just a second too long, and Will tried to hide his shiver at that piercing stare.  

“Captain Erak,” Morgarath commanded in a peculiar, slightly flat tone.  The Skandian in charge stepped forth.

“With all due respect, the correct title is Jarl,” the sea wolf said.  Morgarath nodded.

“I shall remember that… Captain.”  Erak took a deep, deliberate breath.  “Now, what is this?” and he gestured with one hand to Will and Gilan, who were thankfully bereft of their Ranger cloaks.  With their simple brown and forest green attire, they could easily have been mistaken for farmers or simple country men.

“Slaves. We captured them in Celtica,” Erak lied, but Morgarath seemed at least partially unconvinced.  

“Celtica is mine, Captain.  Slaves from Celtica are mine as well.”  

“The deal was that we fought for booty, and slaves are included in that,” Erak argued, stubborn.  Morgarath looked as if he were about to reply when he stopped abruptly.  He raised one hand, a pale finger crooked and pointing at Will’s throat.

“What’s that?”

Gilan turned to follow the Dark Lord’s gaze with a sinking feeling in his heart, and surely enough one small ray of sunlight was glinting dully off of the bronze chain that still hung from Will’s neck.  Morgarath dismounted with blinding speed and was in front of Will before they could blink, tearing the oakleaf and chain away from the apprentice’s neck in a display of absolute hatred.  

“A Ranger!” he snarled, nostrils flaring, and Will froze in terror.  The implacable, mad _fury_ in the Dark Lord’s eyes rooted him to the spot while Gilan watched, horrified but helpless to do anything.  “A Ranger!  This is their sign!”  Realization spread across his face.  “This is the whelp that burned my bridge!”

“He’s only a boy,” Erak tried to intervene, but Morgarath would have none of it.    

“He is no boy!  He is a Ranger!  And you!”  He turned to Gilan, and now it was Will’s turn to watch helplessly as Morgarath jerked the oakleaf on its silver chain into full view.  “You as well!”

Gilan was young— _very_ young—when Morgarath had been defeated.  Only seven years old, his father had told him.  But the stories of evil and horror were as fresh in his mind as if they had been told yesterday.  All his life, and all of Will’s too, he would have been willing to bet, he’d been told tales of Morgarath and his legendary hatred of Rangers—a hatred which, ironically enough, had been triggered by Halt himself when Morgarath had first been defeated.  And now, here were both of Halt’s apprentices: captured and totally at the mercy of the man who hated their kind and their master more than any other, a man who, given the chance, would gleefully torture Will to death.

If nothing else, Gilan thought optimistically (or as much as it was possible to be, in their situation), Morgarath didn’t know exactly _whose_ apprentices they were.  At least, not yet.  Now if he decided to torture them, which Gilan had no doubt he would enjoy—that would be a different story.  Gilan didn’t have faith in his own ability to withstand anything of that sort, and Will was so young he didn’t even want to consider the possibility.  And once Morgarath discovered the identity of the man who’d taught them—well. So much for optimistic.

Morgarath was beyond furious, but outwardly he seemed to have calmed down.  With one hand, he kept a tight grip on Will’s wrist as if sensing that Gilan would never flee without the younger boy, who seemed to be dealing with their situation better than Gilan had hoped.  Instead of succumbing to mindless terror, he remained alert and refused to allow his obvious fear to control him. _Good_ _boy_ , _Will_ , Gilan thought to himself.  He could see the potential Halt had noticed in him.

Apparently, so could Morgarath.  The former Baron frowned slightly, looking down at Will through narrowed, black eyes.  “You interest me,” he mused in a slightly quieter voice.  Will twisted in Morgarath’s grip, but the knight’s grasp was like iron, tight enough to leave bruises.  The apprentice swallowed at the close scrutiny of the man who wanted him dead but said nothing aloud.

Morgarath looked back at Erak and spoke, his words sending slivers of ice through Gilan’s heart.  “I think I’ll be taking this one with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait! I somehow thought I could work full time, pack for college, AND update regularly over the summer. (Spoiler alert: It didn't work.) That being said, on to other things: "In the Beginning" is the beginning of a Motley Crue album (sorry again, that one was super obscure). This week's is "No More," also by a cool rock band. Any guesses?
> 
> Comments keep me alive :)

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I had posted this story previously to AO3 under a different user. It's still me! I've also cross-posted it on fanfiction.net. No work has been stolen :) I deleted the old one because I'm in the process of extensively rewriting it (after undergoing a three-year hiatus and acquiring some vastly improved writing skills in AP English). 
> 
> Second of all, I'm doing something a little bit different with this story. Each chapter title will be based off of song lyrics that go with the content of that chapter. If you can guess the artist/song title, I'll give you a shout-out in the following chapter's notes! (And then I'll go back and add the artist to the previous chapter to keep all the copyright issues nice and tidy, but you should know that I will own none of the italicized bits after the title of each chapter.) So for the prologue, at least, we'll use the story's title...this one isn't too difficult, especially if you've watched Supernatural :)


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